Music, Meadows, and Memories
by WingedQuill1
Summary: She is a country girl with trust issues after her best friend betrayed her. He is an international pop-star who would give it all up if he could eat his words and get his best friend back. When he is sent on a month-long school trip to her family farm, will secrets be revealed? Will wounds be reopened? Will sparks fly? One thing's for sure: I smell FAX! T for language & alcoholism
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride**

Max POV

"Knock knock!" Dylan, my boyfriend, called out to me for the umpteenth time from his perch on the fence as I waded through the muck with the pigs' slop bucket.

"Who's there, Dyl?" I sighed, knowing what was coming, as we'd already been through this joke about twenty times.

"Banana!" _Sweet boyfriend. Nice boyfriend. Friendly-conversation-making boyfriend. Does-not-deserve-to-be-beaten-up boyfriend._

"Banana who?" I sighed yet again.

"Knock knock!" _Ok, maybe just one punch?_

"Who's there?"

"Orange!" _Oh, thank God._

"Orange who?"

"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" _Orange you glad I didn't kick you in the crotch? _He giggled like a lunatic, oblivious to my annoyance.

I should probably back up. I'm Jo. Technically my name is Josephine (80-year-old, much?) Maximum Ride (sexual innuendo for the win!). Nice going, Mumsie and Popsicle. Basically, I go by Jo, and if you call me anything but that, I will bust you one. Particularly Max. I used to go by Max, but not anymore, for very personal reasons.

I've lived on my family's farm, two hours outside New York City, for 6 years, along with my younger siblings, Ari, Ella, Zephyr (called the Gasman for very smelly reasons), and Angel, and my mom. My mom owns the farm, but it's pretty huge, so we hire about ten guys to help, and Dylan's dad is one of them.

I do as much, if not more, than any of the guys that worked for us, but Dylan doesn't work, he just lives on the farm. He often offered to help, but he wasn't exactly coordinated, so I didn't really let him.

He was gorgeous, with perfect blond hair and turquoise eyes that any girl could just melt in, and he's so sweet. I liked him a lot, and he was desperately devoted to me. It's a shame he had absolutely no sense of humor. Anyway…

Suddenly, he got very serious and solemn. "You know, I love you very much, right, Josephine?" Ughh. You know how I said I will beat you up if you call me anything but Jo? Well, that goes for everyone except Dylan, because he's just so…nice. So sickly sweet. It'd be like kicking a puppy covered in chocolate.

"Uh huh," I mumbled distractedly. He told me he loved me all the time, and I wasn't ready to say it back, but I honestly don't think he noticed.

"And that will stay true. This month won't change anything. I love you, and you love me," _Well, OK, buddy, whatever gets you through the day. _"And- and- and- and just because I'm leaving for a month doesn't mean anything. We are soul mates and NOTHING can get in between that, even if we're not gonna be together-"

Finally he'd gotten my attention. "Are you on drugs? That's the weirdest break-up speech in the history of ever." I stared at him.

Dylan stared at me like _I _was the one spewing utter nonsense. "I'm not breaking up with you! Jo, didn't your mom tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"All of the farm hands are leaving for a month. My dad and I have to be gone tomorrow. You guys have these city kids coming from some high school in NYC to live on the farm for a month-"

"WHAT?!"

"You know, how the junior class of that rich-kid private high school in New York City, Manhattan Talent Academy, I think, always comes down to the farm for a day as a field trip every year?"

"Uh…yeah..."

"Well, they're staying for a month this time. And they're going to stay in our lodge and do our chores, so your mom doesn't need us or have space for us while they're there."

"No one told me this. This is crazy. You misunderstood." I climbed out of the pit, hopped the fence Dylan was sitting on and sprinted up to my house and into the living room.

"MOOOOOOM!" I bellowed, before seeing her standing right in front of me, looking pissed.

"Josephine Maximum Ride! What did I tell you about tracking mud onto the white carpets?" She snapped. Oops.

I pulled off my ratty combat boots while demanding, "Dylan just went psycho on me and started babbling about how we're having those stupid stuck-up city slickers here for an entire month. Starting _tomorrow_. But I KNOW there is no way in HELL you would decide something like that without talking to me and not even tell me until the day before. RIGHT?!" I demanded desperately.

My mom looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Jo. It must have slipped my mind. But as you know, we're pressed for money and, well, the school approached me about it, and they pay very well. It's only a month, there are only about 20 kids coming, and they're your age! It'll be great! You'll show them the ropes of the farm. You can make friends, and you'll have someone to visit in New York City!"

I shook my head. "Whoa, Nellie! I refuse to be involved in teaching these snots. Make Ari and Ella teach them."

She turned away and reached into the oven to pull out a tray. "Okay, fine. But you know, I was thinking that, with all that energy you'd be expending teaching them, you'd need these delicious chocolate chip cookies to keep you energized, but I guess I can just give them to Ari and Ella…"

"Blackmail?! This is so unfair!"

"Blackmail is such a dirty word, sweetie. I prefer…rewards for good behavior." She smiled sweetly at me. Damn, my mom is _good_. I sighed in defeat and grabbed six cookies from her tray, burning my hand in the process but not caring.

My mother's chocolate chip cookies are actual heaven on earth. I swear, if I had to choose between a tray of cookies and, like, saving my family's life, I'd probably go for the cookies. That's not to say I don't love my family, 'cause they're awesome. Cookies are just…better.

I marched up the stairs with my cookies, getting ready for some Class-A teenager sulking, but Nudge, my best friend, hijacked me as soon as I got into our room. Yeah, _our _room. Nudge's parents have a shop in the closest town (about half an hour from the farm).

She comes to live with us and help out on the farm during harvest season when we don't have school, so she has nothing to do, and the farm needs as much help as it can get. When we do have school, I live with her during the week because town is too far to drive to daily.

"OMG, Jo, Mom (Yeah, she calls my mother mom. She's basically my sister. Deal.) just told me about the kids that are coming, and remember last time they came, and you wore that weird orange shirt? This time Mom told me I have to make you dress up, and I'm allowed to use cookie bribes if I have to, and I have this adorable shirt with sparkles on it that you can wear! ZOMG, don't you just love sparkles? I think they're-phthooo" I slapped my hand over her mouth, stopping the word-vomit.

I shook my head at her. "You will get me into a dress when flying bird kids save the world."

She shook her head at me and said, "Where do you get this stuff, Jo? I mean seriously, flying bird kids? It's like your brain is this giant piece of fluff with, like, all this random stuff floating around in it, like-"

"Why am I friends with you?" I demanded with a laugh, grabbing one of her precious fancy down pillows and whacking her over the head with it. It exploded, showering the entire room with feathers.

It was like a slow-motion moment in the movies, and I turned towards Nudge in horror, ready to apologize my ass off. She grabbed a handful of feathers as they floated down, looking murderous. Then, all of a sudden, she threw them back into the air, yelling, "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" I couldn't help it. I cracked up.

"Oh yeah," I said through gasps of laughter, "This is why."

**Thanks for reading! Please R&R! This is my first attempt at an AU fanfiction, so constructive criticism is welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to maximumgirl, lucky alyssa, fictionreaderlover, and Tyler for the awesome reviews! So...I'm not sure yet whether I'll do alternating POVs each chapter or just mostly Max, but, for now, here's Fang...**

Fang POV

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, throwing my mini-basketball into the hoop on my wall and waiting for it to bounce back to me, again and again and again. It was my routine when I didn't have anything to do. I could sit here for hours and just think.

Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal my mom, looking frazzled and harassed. "Nick!"

"What do you want, Marie?" I asked tiredly, closing my eyes and letting the basketball fall from my hands. It wasn't that I didn't like my mother. She's a good person, and she puts up with a lot of shit from my dad, so I should probably be kinder to her. I'm just not great at interacting with people in general; it has a tendency to tire me out, especially since I lost Her.

"Nick, your father is coming home tonight, in an hour, and you know he won't be happy if you're not presentable. Also, your manager is coming to talk about this month-long break while you go to this farm with the school."

That's right, my _manager_. I'm Nicholas Walker, international superstar singer. Big whoop. I love singing, really, I like the band, and the fame can be fun, but as I said, people tire me out, particularly slutty, screaming fan girls, which is why I try to be as normal as I can.

I go to 11th grade at a New York City private school and I'm going with my whole grade on this trip to a farm upstate for a month, starting tomorrow. Meaning that I won't be performing for that time, which, for Mardi, my "fun, flamboyant, and fabuloso" manager (his words, not mine), means that the world is coming to an end.

So with a groan and a nod to my mom, I roll off the bed and pull open my bureau to find something decent to wear tonight as my mom leaves, closing the door. I settle on straight black jeans and a black polo, not something I'd normally be caught dead in, but dinner with my dad is a special occasion, and at least it's black.

As I straighten up, though, I can't help but see The Picture, the only personal item in my drab, colorless room, and, as always, it sends me down memory lane. The photo shows me, dressed in blue jeans and a filthy black-white-and-gray plaid shirt (see, I don't ALWAYS wear ONLY black!) sitting on a dark bay horse behind a brunette who is beautiful even with glasses, braces, and mud coating her jeans and red t-shirt. My arms are wrapped around her waist, and her right hand is waving in the air, pretending to lasso cattle. Both of us have huge smiles on our faces. It's an expression I barely even remember how to make anymore.

The picture was taken when we were eleven, just a few months before everything began to fall apart. For seven years, after we met at the age of five, She was my best friend and by far the best thing in my life.

* * *

5 years old:

There was a park with a huge playground a few blocks from my house that all the neighborhood kids used to go to every day after school. Our neighborhood in Albany, New York (I didn't move to NYC until high school) was very wealthy and super-safe, so parents didn't bother to accompany their kids to the park. The playground was a lot of fun, except for The Rule.

Only kids over 8 could use the swings. It wasn't set up by the park or parents, but by the big kids, who intimidated the rest of us into following it.

A lot of kids used to get angry about it, and once, a six-year-old claimed a swing when no one was looking. When the big kids caught him, though, they beat him up and sent him running home in terror. After that, we understood the code: You didn't mess with the scary big kids, they were bullies.

Everyone knew the rule, everyone followed it; it was easier that way.

_Everyone except Her._

By the age of five, I'd been coming for two years and had plenty of friends I played with, but one day, for some reason, when I showed up none of them were there. This was very rare and rather odd, but it was fine with me: I was naturally introverted, and liked having time to myself sometimes.

I crawled through a small bush outside the perimeter of the playground, knowing that it led to a small, dark clearing in the underbrush where I would go sometimes to be alone. I expected my secret hideout to be empty as it always was, but that was not what I found.

When I crawled in and stood up, I heard the crinkling of paper and looked down to see that I was standing on a big pile of papers. I looked around to find a beautiful brown-haired girl about my age glaring at me, hands on hips. Her cheeks were round and rosy, her lips pink and sweet, but the main fascination was the determination sparkling in her chocolate eyes, daring anyone to cross her.

I had never seen her before, which was extremely rare at this park: pretty much everyone in our neighborhood knew everyone else, and we all played here.

"Get off our pwans." She ordered in a whisper, but her voice had so much authority (especially for a kindergartener) that I found myself automatically stepping off the papers. I looked around and as my eyes got accustomed to the darkness of the shrubbery, I saw five or six other pairs of eyes staring at us from the edges of the clearing.

Ignoring me now, the girl picked up the papers I had stepped on, their "plans," which appeared to contain a bunch of squiggly, indecipherable arrows, wiped the mud off carefully, and then waved them in front of the other pairs of eyes.

"OK, troops!" She announced, "Ready? Remember the stages: Attack, Sabotage, Intidimidiate-intidi-intimidi-I mean, scare him, then VICTOOOOORY! Let's go!" I suddenly found myself scrambling out of the way and landing on my butt as a stampede of kids charged past me, following her out of the clearing back to the playground. I jumped up, dusted myself off, and followed them, curious.

When my eyes got acclimated to the bright light again, I saw the girl herself standing at the front of the pack of kids which contained, to my surprise, a bunch of the kids I normally played with, facing the swing containing the biggest of the big kids, a nasty guy named Bruce who was easily twice our age.

The girl watched him intently as he continued to swing, ignoring them, nodding her head to the rhythm of the swing. Suddenly, she whistled and ran forward, accompanied by a boy and girl who looked just like her, but younger.

As Bruce reached the very bottom of his swing, the three kids grabbed his legs and dragged him down until his swing reached a full stop.

"What the-" he started, flailing his limbs out to try to knock the kids off his legs, but the little gang was one step ahead of him. Without anyone noticing, two of the other kids in the little group had snuck up behind him, and they now pulled the swing back and sent his body slamming to the ground with a thud, knocking the wind out of him.

The other kids rushed forward now, each grabbing one of his limbs and pushing them down. Max let go of his leg and walked over to stare down at his face. The playground had gone completely silent as every kid watched the scene unfold.

The older kids had all stopped swinging, and were staring at the scene open-mouthed, but had not moved an inch to help Bruce; they were completely unprepared to deal with a mutiny of this kind and had no idea what to do.

The silence and absence of motion made it easy for everyone to hear the girl's words.

"You are a meanie-head," She informed Bruce, who had stopped struggling against the 5 kids holding him down and was now just staring at her, mouth agape. "Everybody should be allowed to use the thwings. Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you're better. I think," her mouth curved up in an adorable smirk, "that we've proved that. This is our thwing now." Then, looking up, she grinned for real at her little troop and said, "Take him away!"

With a huge "Heave Ho!" The kids each lifted their part of his body and dragged him about ten feet away from the swing. They dumped his body on the ground and walked back to the girl as Bruce just lay there, shell-shocked. I expected the girl, their leader, to jump onto the swing: After all, she'd planned and orchestrated the coup; she'd worked hard enough to deserve to reap the rewards. But she didn't.

Instead, she waited until they had all reassembled around the swing and then turned towards the entire playground and yelled out to all of the kids, "OK, get in line, from youngest to oldest. This is our thwing now."

That's what we did. It was incredible. Every 7-year-old or younger kid on that playground, literally every single one, lined up according to their age to get on the one swing that was "ours" now. There was no shoving, no older kids trying to get rid of the younger kids, every child seemed awed into submission by the powerful, magnetic force of the girl's personality. And every single kid got their fair turn, protected by her little gang.

Though the younger kids had only claimed one of 6 swings, there was no doubt whatsoever that the power had shifted. This mysterious girl, whoever she was, had completely altered the ancient, unbreakable rules, in just one day.

I had no idea then, but that was the day I fell in love with her.

She, unfortunately, did not feel the same way.

When it was almost my turn to get on the swing, I found myself next to her as she leaned against a post. She was tired, because she'd been the one helping the little kids onto the swings, pushing them when they didn't know how to pump, and dusting them off when they fell out, even though some were as big as or bigger than her, but we were finally to the kids who could swing on their own. I took this opportunity to tap her on the shoulder, and she turned to face me, eyebrows raised.

"I like you," I said, grinning, but instead of responding, she pouted her bottom lip thoughtfully. "You're supposed to say it back." I told her bluntly, "That's the rule."

"So you agree wif Mommy." She finally said.

"What?"

"My mommy says to compwiment people if they compwiment you. But my daddy says to always tell the truth." She paused a moment longer, considering, then said, "Daddy's way is more fun. You stepped on my plans: You're a butt."

And with that, she marched away, collected the little boy and girl who had helped her tackle Bruce earlier, and left the park, pausing only to stick her tongue out over her shoulder at me. She left me shell-shocked and hurt, but desperately, inexplicably wanting to see her again.

Her name was Max, as I soon found out from John. She didn't live in the neighborhood; she had collected her siblings, (the two younger kids who had helped her take down Bruce) putting the boy on his tricycle and the girl in her bike's basket, and biked to the park, without her parents' permission or knowledge. At 5 YEARS OLD!

Every day after that, I would rush to the park as soon as my school ended to search for her, but she was never there. As I looked, I wrote a speech in my head that I would use to convince her to give being friends with me a shot and practiced it under my breath for hours. I stayed longer than I normally would too, sometimes until it got dark enough that my mom came out to look for me. I wasn't the only one, either. Every kid under 7, especially those from her little troop, seemed desperate for her to appear again. After a while, though, we were all starting to lose hope, especially because we knew that she didn't live on our side of town, and hadn't had her parents' permission to be here.

I had started to give up a week after the day she had permanently rearranged the power structure of the park (yes, permanently; even without her there, that swing had still stayed "ours". Never underestimate the power of calling someone a meanie-head - wit at its finest). But as I was finally, at long last, trudging away from the little hideout in the shrubbery where I had been waiting for her to appear for a week, ready to give up and go play soccer with my old friends, I saw something that emptied every thought of Max from my head.

I came out the back of the patch of bushes because it left me closer to the soccer field, but it also took me within ten feet of the road. As I looked up, I saw a tiny boy, younger even than me, on a tricycle, riding alone in the middle of the road, maybe five feet back from where I was. He had a very focused look on his face, and was just as unaware of the giant SUV coming from behind him as the driver was of him.

Terror sent adrenaline flooding through my veins, and I found myself sprinting into the road, faster than I had ever run before. I didn't register the screams of the SUV's 16-year-old student driver as she fumbled for the brake or the yells of my playmates who had seen me shooting into the road like a man possessed. I had eyes only for the tiny tricycling kid as I tackled him, sending us both flying backward off the trike, towards the SUV. I don't know how I knew that we would fit underneath the car, but I was right. I slammed the now screaming kid to the ground as the SUV rolled over us, crashing into the trike and, finally, skidded to a halt twenty feet down the road. The girl slammed the car door open and practically tumbled out of the car, mascara dripping down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably, expecting to see the mangled bodies of two dead toddlers.

Instead, she found me and the little boy sitting in the road, holding onto each other, shaking with the kind of hysterical laughter that can only be brought on by a brush with death.

"Are-are-are you-are you hurt?" She stammered through disbelieving sobs. We just grinned at her and shook our heads. It wasn't strictly true, I would discover later that I had broken my arm, and the kid's leg was pretty scraped up, but at that moment, we could feel nothing but adrenaline and relief.

A few seconds later, as our little tableau sat still, no one certain of what to do next, a blue-pink-and-brown blur shot towards us and tackled the little boy in a hug.

"Ari, you dumbo, you know we can't go fast when I'm carrying Ella, you could've gotten really hurt! You can't go faster than me, idiot!" The girl, his sister, I presumed, finally pulled away from him, sobbing, and smoothed down his hair, adding as an afterthought, "Are you okay?"

He nodded, then pointed to me and said, "He saved me." The girl turned towards me then, and my eyes widened. It was Her. Max. Before I could launch into the speech I'd been practicing all week, she whispered, "I know. I saw." Then her arms were around my neck and she was mumbling "thank you, thank you," over and over again. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her back.

Finally, she pulled away and dried her eyes, then looked back up at me, took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry I called you a butt. You saved Ari; I like you. A lot." I got the sense apologizing wasn't something that came naturally to her, so she must have really meant it.

I grinned toothily at her, then grabbed her hands and said, "It's OK. I like you too."

Eventually, we sorted out that I had a broken arm and Ari was pretty scraped-up, so the utterly bemused teenage driver took Max, Ari, Ella (their other sister) and me to the hospital. Max stayed with me and Ari the entire time we were getting checked on, and Max and I talked nonstop for about four hours. By the end of that time, we were devoted best friends; a bond that would be the strongest one in my life for 7 years.

* * *

Tearing myself out of the flow of memories, I looked away from the Picture and got dressed, then went downstairs to where the maids had already set the drawing room table for three. My mother stood by the door to the drawing room, dolled up in a fancy cocktail dress, and she gestured nervously for me to sit down at the table, which I did. A few awkward, silent minutes later, the doorbell rang. My father had a key to his own house, of course, but he liked pomp. I heard the pulling back of the lock and the mumbling of the maid (a new girl hired only last week) taking his coat.

I bit the inside of my lip, hoping this new maid wasn't a squealer. No dice. A moment later, my mom flinched as we heard the smack of my married, middle-aged father slapping the 20-year-old maid's ass and then the maid's flirty, girlish squeak.

After a few seconds, my father stepped into the room. He wrapped my mother in an embrace, kissing her and grabbing her ass at the same time. From her contented sigh and the smile on her face when he released her and sat down at the head of the table, I knew she had completely forgotten his disgusting behavior in the hall. As always.

Finally, he appeared to notice my presence, gave me a once-over, and then, apparently finding nothing too dissatisfactory, clicked his fingers to summon the first course. Throughout the meal, my father monologued about the only topic ever of interest to him: himself. The block-buster movies he'd produced in Hollywood since we'd last seen him 3 months ago, the famous actors and politicians he'd met, how much more macho he was than them. At long last, when dinner ended, he dismissed my mother with a wave.

"Piggy," he said, using his "pet name" for her (if it counts as a pet name when it doubles as a way for him to tell her she's getting fat), "Out. Nicholas and I need some _man_ time."

My mom scurried out of the room quickly, and my father turned to me. "So, Nicky-boy," he drawled, "I hear you've got yourself a chick."

"Yeah," I monotoned.

"Well, thank god, boy, I was beginning to worry you were experimenting with this girly-man homo shit."

"No." I said quietly, because although I knew it would make him proud if I went along with his homophobia, I couldn't quite bring myself to say something that appalling and bigoted out loud.

He grumbled slightly and then continued, "But remember, there's a lot of asses in the stable, if you get my drift. Don't get hung up on one chick. You stick with one for too long, she gets clingy and pissy. Why, when I was your age, I had more girlfriends in one week than you've had in your whole life, boy!" He laughed uproariously, and I managed a weak chuckle, but then he continued in a more serious vein, "This girl you've got, though, who is it?"

"Lissa."

"Last name, boy, you think I give a damn about your fuck-buddy's first name?"

"Uh, Harold."

"Manhattan or Brooklyn?"

"I dunno."

"Well, boy, you'd better find out! There's a bigshot Harold in the United States Congress and your old man would like it if you could, uh, cozy up," he snickered, "with any daughter of his, but the Brooklyn Harolds, why, I'd be surprised if they've got more than a couple million in the bank. The man don't even drive a sports car. Imagine that, son!" He chortled in disbelief, and then stood up.

"Well, I've gotta get back to your mother." He grinned leeringly, and I had no doubt that my mother would not be the only woman he would "get back" to tonight. "One last thing before I go, though: I don't mind if you do toy around with her, as a fling, even if she is a Brooklyn Harold, just as long as you never, ever get it on again with that disgusting urchin…Max, was it? You're too good for filth like that, son, even if the babe was easy on the eyes." He clapped me on the back, hard, and strode out of the room, leaving me frozen in disgust and pain, wanting to hit him and hit myself and cry all at once.

But I didn't of course, because I'm Nicholas Jones, emotionless rock. I got up, changed into more comfortable clothes, and met with my manager, who agreed eventually that I could go on the farm trip as long as I started a world tour the week after getting back. I went to bed, then, knowing who I'd be dreaming of that night. If I got any sleep at all, that is. For barely being five foot tall, the new maid sure did know how to make noise during sex with my father.

**So...Fang has Daddy issues, Daddy has commitment issues, and we got a little bit of baby Fax! Like it? Hate it? Please review and let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for the reviews! maximumgirl23306: Thanks, and yep, he is! I can't decide which of the two has it worse on the father frontier...but that's a question for later. **

**Sorry for the wait, I've been busy and out of town...here goes!**

**Disclaimer: JP owns all characters, I only own plot. **

Max POV

The day the city slickers would arrive was a Monday, but because apparently in billionaire-land, getting up before noon is unacceptable, even when you're expecting to work for your dinner on a farm two hours away, they wouldn't be arriving until two in the afternoon. After rushing through our morning chores, Ari, Ella, Nudge, and I were left with a few hours to spare, so we each saddled up a horse and rode down to my friends' secret spot by a brook on the edge of our farm's land to eat lunch. Nudge and I had to blindfold Ella and Ari, of course. I mean it when I say _secret_. They were still absurdly excited, however, having never been to the "big-kid-hideout" before.

When we had untacked the horses to let them graze comfortably for a few hours and laid out our picnic, I turned to Ari and Ella.

"You're helping with these kids," I commanded in a tone that left no room for argument. "For the first week at least, we're gonna divide them up, and we'll all help teach them the chores around the farm. Capiche?"

"What'll we get for it?" Ari demanded, but I just rolled my eyes.

"How about I don't whip your sorry asses into shape by actually making you put in some effort around here? We all know I do twice as many chores as the two of you combined, and I don't think you want a situation like that to end."

"Fine," Ella agreed for them both, though I heard her mutter, "Of course, her and her friends get together here all the time to plan awesome pranks and Night-Rider parties, but _noooo_, the one time we get to come, it's just so she can terrorize us into agreeing to help without Mom knowing."

I grinned at her. "Damn straight!" She rolled her eyes, but quickly cheered back up when my friends J.J., Ty, and Danny, who also happened to be Ella's crush, showed. We spread out our picnic lunch on the ground and Ella dove into the giant stack of fashion and celebrity magazines she had somehow collected. A few minutes into lunch, a fascinating discussion about the right way to skin a hog was rudely interrupted by her shrill squeal.

"OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD! Nudge! Come! Now!" Nudge, her fellow girly-girl, obeyed the summons, and an instant later, screamed even louder than Ella had. The boys, J.J. and I rolled our eyes over their heads, until Danny finally gave in and demanded to know what was so exciting that it was worth breaking our eardrums for.

"Oh nothing," Ella snapped, irritated, "only, I dunno-

"_**NICHOLAS WALKER IS COMING TO OUR FARM WITH HIS SCHOOL!"**_ I stared blankly at them, and the boys groaned and rolled their eyes, but J.J. gasped and threw herself onto the pile of magazines.

"Oh my god!" she squealed excitedly, "Why didn't you say so? I just thought, like, Justin Bieber had finally admitted to being female or something. Nicholas Walker is coming HERE?!"

"Who the hell is Nicholas Walker?" I demanded, utterly exasperated and feeling betrayed by my partner in not-giving-a-crap-ness, who had suddenly started giving out craps like nobody's business.

All three girls turned to stare at me like I had just admitted to being a Satan worshipper. Then, very slowly and carefully, J.J. whispered, "The heretic has defiled the sacred shrine. The heretic must die." Suddenly, all three charged me, sending the self-defense instincts my father had taught me into overdrive. As they ran towards me, I somersaulted between Nudge and Ella, hooking a hand around Ella's ankle as I did and sending her tumbling to the ground. I grabbed the first one of their magazines I could find in one hand and a hunk of mud in the other.

By the time the three girls turned around, ready for another charge, I was holding the mud up to the face on the cover of the magazine threateningly. "One more step and it's a mud facial for, um," I glanced at the face, which looked really familiar, but I didn't have a name for it, then at the label beneath it. "OH! This is Nicholas Walker!" they all nodded and giggled and started spewing fangirl facts at about 200 words a minute.

I tried to insist that I was most definitely not interested in learning about some other stupid stuck-up rich popstar who probably had no talent but was only liked for his pretty face. That backfired, though, because all they heard was "pretty face," so now they all thought I liked him too.

_Awesome._

In general, I'll listen to pretty much anything, but I make an exception for teenage pop-stars, who are pretty much all crap, as far as I can tell, so I had never heard of him before. I just wonder why he looked so familiar…

After we finished lunch, the seven of us split into teams to play "footsall," which is basically soccer, but dumber. I maintain that Danny and Ty made it up in order to show off their weird over-dramatic trick-moves, but they say I'm just bitter because they both learned the rainbow before they turned ten and I didn't master it until I was 12. So? I had better things to do with my time!

The score was 9-7 with the boys winning, much to my chagrin, when Ella, who was playing ref, called for us to stop. Yes, by the way, we do need a ref, thanks for asking. Last time we played without a ref…well, let's just say, there used to be a kid named Will who hung out with us. The last time I saw Will he was in a mental hospital, begging me to baa like a sheep so the giant pink mosquitoes would stop cutting off his goatee. That was right before his mother threw her stilettos at my head. Good times, good times.

Ella ran onto the field suddenly, and we all turned toward her, confused. Sure, at least four of us were fighting like animals in the mud, but no one had a weapon, and no limbs were in danger of being broken, so I really didn't see the problem.

"Guys!" She yelled, "We lost track of time! It's two-thirty already!"

I swore loudly, extracting myself from the tangle of legs and arms and mud that was our wrestling match over the soccer ball.

"Marti's gonna kill y'all," J.J. informed us happily. Marti is what all my friends besides Nudge call my mom, short for Mrs. Martinez. I stuck out my tongue at her over my shoulder as Nudge and I sprinted towards our horses. I helped Nudge up onto her mare, and then hopped onto Greased Lightning, the fastest stallion in the stable and the one I was breaking in right now.

"Ari, Ella, saddle up and carry our tack back! We've got to get back as fast as possible."

"No!" Ella whined, "You have to help-" The rest of her sentence was lost in the pounding of hooves as Nudge and I tore out of the clearing, clinging low to the horses' manes for dear life.

"Race you!" She yelled to me, and I laughed wildly.

Kicking Greaser's sides and pressing my body flat against his back, I bellowed back, "EAT MY DUST!"

Fang POV

After a tearful (on her part) goodbye from my mom, the help loaded my stuff into a moving truck and I climbed into my friend Iggy's limo. We were riding up together, and the class would meet at the farm.

"Are you excited for the homemade hick moonshine?" Iggy demanded by way of greeting before I was even in the car, bouncing up and down in his seat.

I just stared at him and shook my head.

"Oh, that's right, _Nicholas Walker_ can't get drunk," he said dramatically, imitating my manager, "_Nicholas Walker _has an image to protect. _Nicholas Walker_ must maintain his innocent heartthrob depiction for his swooning-teenage-girl fan base. _Nicholas Walker_ cannot take a leak without reflecting on the impact of said piss on his image, and God forbid _Nicholas Walker_ should ever need to shit like the rest of us mortals."

"Iggy, shut up. Not in the mood," I groaned, but he didn't listen. Duh. It's Iggy we're talking about here.

"Seriously, though, this is gonna be, like totes _awesomesauce!" _He squealed, about two octaves too high, going right past preteen valley-girl and landing on banshee with a head-cold. "Oh em gee, even without alcohol, though, aren't you excited for all the cutey-pie animals?"

"You won't see them."

"Wow, thanks for the reminder, man. Hey, d'you think there'll be any hot country chicks?"

"Again, you're blind, You. Won't. Know."

"Oh, I'll figure it out," he said, cackling ominously, "the Igster has his methods." I don't even want to think about what that could mean.

I just groaned noncommittally, and he finally seemed to get that I didn't want to talk. Not that that shut him up, of course.

"Is wittle Nicky PMSing?" Iggy demanded, "You're growing up so fast. Seems like only yesterday you were making poopy in your diaper!" That was when I hit him, effectively ending _that _conversation, and leaving me alone with only my father's words from last night playing again and again in my head.

I had planned to tell him how much I'd grown over the past few months; how much more of a man I'd become. Despite what I told my mom, and she, I assume, told my dad, Lissa wasn't a long-term girlfriend; she almost certainly wouldn't last more than a week. At long last, I'd started to understand what I really needed to be to make my dad proud; the school player. And I was trying: I'd had more girlfriends this year than in the entire rest of my life combined. I was so excited at the prospect of finally making my father proud.

But somehow, watching what he did with the maid, hearing him insult gays, and worst of all, Max, I just couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. Every time the words came onto my tongue, I saw Her in my mind's eye, wagging her finger in over-dramatized fury, waxing eloquent at age 12 about sexism in our society. Just when I thought I was finally getting Her and her worldview out of my head.

When our limo finally pulled off the road and onto a long, dirt track, Iggy pulled me out of my thoughts again, and this time, I was happier to oblige. We watched as the chauffeur wended his way through field after field, chatting, occasionally cheering childishly when we saw animals. Finally we pulled up at a white, two-story farm house. A few limos and moving vans were there already and five or so people were standing in a clump, but it looked like most of the class wasn't there yet.

Iggy and I got out and joined them, coming into the middle of a conversation, held with very nasally voices because everyone was pinching his or her nose.

"-We can't actually be expected to _live _here for a _month_. I mean, it's just unsanitary."

"I just had a mani-pedi, and I just know working at this place will destroy my cuticles."

"Wait, you don't actually think we'll, like, be expected to do, like, chores, right?"

"There's no way. My mum would sue these hicks through the nose, and there's no way they could afford it," Zach said, waving a hand at the tiny (by our standards) house, the peeling paint of the barn, and the scruffy clothes hanging on a clothesline nearby. Every guffawed at this, and finally seemed to notice that Iggy and I had joined the group. Lissa, who I hadn't noticed until now, ran across the circle towards me and practically collapsed into my arms. She promptly started, for lack of a better term, shoving her tongue down my throat.

I kissed her back, of course; that's what you do when a hot girl starts making out with you. It's the rule.

More people arrived, getting more and more annoyed about the heat, the smell, and the fact that whoever was coming out was late, until finally, at about 2:10, a woman came out of the house and came to stand right next to me, looking annoyed, harassed, and just plain tired.

"Hello?" She called out timidly to us all, and the head teacher, Mr. Barclay, ran up to her, and started yelling at her immediately about keeping us waiting. After about five minutes of this, she finally managed to get a word in edgewise.

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "My daughter was supposed to be here to pick you up, but she's not back yet." She rubbed her forehead exasperatedly, then muttered, "Oh, I will have her hide on a silver platter."

She looked around then, took in our moving vans and limos, and her eyes widened in shock. "What on Earth are those?"

"Uh…those are the students' possessions…" Barclay said very slowly, as though talking to someone mentally handicapped.

She just rubbed her head, still seeming utterly exhausted. "Y'all do know you ain't exactly living in your own individual mansions, right?" She muttered, but I was standing close enough that I picked it up. Finally, she stood up taller and clapped her hands, getting everyone's attention again. "Look, I dunno what y'all are planning on doing with all that, but I'm just gonna show y'all to the barn, and my daughter, Jo, should be back very soon to tour you around and teach you." She set off across the fields and we followed her through the mud, the girls all horrified by the mud that was coating their stiletto heels. When we got over a hill and to the dingy red barn, she gestured for us to go inside the open doors and wait there, then walked away.

We stood awkwardly in the barn, waiting for the mysterious "Jo," everyone pinching their noses to avoid the disgusting smells of horse poop, the girls all huddling in the middle to avoid being touched by the "filthy mongrel beasts." Sigh. We stood there for maybe five minutes while the teachers fiddled uncomfortably with their clipboards and the girls all hissed to each other about how terrified they were that the disgusting, scary horses would attack them, until-

""HORSES ON THE LOOSE! STAMPEEEEEEDE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Everyone started running in random directions, bumping into each other, screaming like maniacs, not seeming to notice that every horse was still chilling in its stall, a little freaked by the random shout, but otherwise completely calm. I just turned my head to the side to look at Iggy, who had yelled and was now laughing like a lunatic.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and he stopped cracking up long enough to gasp out, "Admit (laughter) it (peals of laughter), you were (cackles) bored, too." I rolled my eyes, but the side of my mouth twitched up. Iggy is one-of-a-kind.

It took a few minutes for the teachers to realize that nothing had actually happened and get everyone in order, and we all went back to standing around, though chatting a little more now, at least.

Then, very faintly, I heard the sound of horse hooves coming from the other side of the hill at the front of the barn. They got louder and louder, showing no sign of slowing down, and people started scrambling backwards nervously. The crest of the hill was only about twenty feet from us, and the rider seemed to have no idea that we were here.

Suddenly, the rider's head appeared over the top of the hill. It was a girl, her blond hair flying behind her, tangling in the wind, cheeks flushed pink, grinning crazily. Her face was a wild, tough kind of beautiful, and as the rest of her came into view, her elegant tan, muscular body accentuated the first impression. It was achingly familiar to me: her raw, captivating power and grace was something I'd only ever experienced from one other girl.

The beautiful girl's horse saw us an instant before she did, and it skidded to a halt and reared in the air, throwing up its head and kicking its front legs, while screaming out a whinny.

She was riding, as I could now see, utterly bareback, without even a bridle or reins to hold. When the horse reared, she threw her arms around its neck to stay on, with a yell of, "Holy shit!" A moment later, with the horse still rearing in the air, she regained control, grabbed its mane, and literally shoved it to the ground.

"Greaser!" she snapped, swinging one leg over and hopping off gently, "How many times do I have to tell you? You. Do. Not. Spook. EVER. I don't care if Leonardo Di-Fucking-Caprio comes charging out of the Atlantic Ocean shirtless, you do not spook. You do not rear. Hell, you don't even neigh! You calmly say, "Jack, you're about a half-century late," and you gallop your sorry ass back to your stall," On the word stall, she patted its rump, and the horse trotted off into an open stall labeled 'Greased Lightning,' "And then," she called, "You tell me all about it, because Leonardo di Caprio is _hot!_"

At long last, she turned to us, imposing look on her face, giving off an if-you-cross-me-you-will-regret-it vibe.

"Alright, what're y'all doing in my barn?" She demanded, but as our teacher timidly opened his mouth, looking very intimidated, we heard the pounding of hooves over the hill again, and Max's-what? Never mind. Forget I said that name-the girl's eyes widened. Spinning to face the hill, she ran out of the barn, yelling "Stop! Nudge, there are people in the barn! Slow down!"

The hoof beats didn't cease, though, and a girl's voice (Nudge?) yelled back, "LIAR! Just 'cause you won you don't got to rub it in my face!"

"Shit," Ma-no! The girl muttered, as a horse's head appeared above the hill. She turned to us with a smirk and said, "Don't try this at home, kiddies." Then, without another glance back, she ran forward, charging straight towards the galloping horse and rider. I heard terrified shrieks from the girls in my class and even a couple of the guys, but she seemed to have it under control.

Throwing her arms out in front of the horse as it came over the hill, she bellowed, "WHOOOA!" The mare skidded to a halt as fast as it could, the girl running backwards in front of it, just avoiding being barreled into. When the rider, a cute African-American girl maybe one or two years younger than us, had calmed down, gotten off and put the mare away, they both turned to face us.

"Hey, y'all, I'm Jo." The girl called to us all, standing on a mounting block, "I'm assuming y'all are the city slickers-" her friend elbowed her, "I mean, uh, 'Brooklyn Talent Academy students' staying with us for a month?" Nods and mumbles of assent. "My little brother and sister will be comin' soon to help out, but for now, I'm going to take you on a tour of the farm, and then when they show, we'll divide you up and start teaching you the ropes. Geddit? Got it? Good. Now have y'all put your stuff in your rooms yet?"

The teacher shook her head, and Jo nodded and hopped down from the block, calling over her shoulder, "Alright, follow me!" she walked out of the barn, us following behind her in a big clump. We walked back the way we had come, towards the house, but when we got in sight of our moving vans, Jo and her friend froze in place.

"What…" Jo began.

"The…" her friend continued.

"Crap?" Jo again.

She turned to her friend then and stage-whispered, "Did Mom also _forget to mention_ that the entire British royal family is moving here permanently?"

Her friend giggled, then whispered back, "I have no clue…wait! Omigod! _Nick Walker_ is here: They must be, like, his entourage!"

Of course. Of. Freakin'. Course. They're fangirls.

"Well, which one is he so I can tell him where he can stuff 'em?"

Or…not.

Mr. Barclay stepped up then, nervously, and told her that it wasn't just my stuff; it was everyone's furniture, clothes, a couple pets, etc. Both girls' mouths dropped open, and they just stood there, frozen in shock.

Finally, in a strangled voice, Jo choked out, "But….but…but…_15 moving trucks. _Y'all are only here for a _month_. I don't…I don't understand rich people." Then she gave a resigned sigh and started walking again, across three fields to a very long one-story building that looked even dingier than the farmhouse. Oh, geez, tell me this place had indoor plumbing, tell me this was not a giant row of outhouses…

"This is where y'all will sleep," her friend piped up. Wait…_what?_ This is not a home. No way, no how. This place is disgusting, tiny, filthy, you name it. Compared to sleeping here, that outhouse idea is starting to sound positively peachy. "You have an hour to get all your stuff put in, and you can send the rest of it home, I guess, I don't really know. I mean, it's probably not all gonna fit. ZOMG, is it, like, really fancy? Do you have lots and lots of clothes in there? Maybe if they don't all fit in your rooms, I could borrow some? Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top? Except, OMG, cherries are, like, the grossest things ev-" Her incredibly fast-paced rant was cut short by Jo's hand over her mouth.

"In short," Jo called out, sounding amused, "There are 25 of you, and 10 rooms with three beds each. You have an hour to pick roommates and put your junk away. You better be out here at the end of that time when we start the tour, or you won't be eating dinner tonight. Have fun!"

**A/N**

**WOAH! 4000 words! **

**So, I admit, I'm using the Fang the Player cliché. Kind of. In general, I don't like this, because (a) it's overused, (b) it's OOC, and (c) it usually makes me hate him and just be baffled and pissed when Max falls for him after about 2 chapters. So, I guess I'm kind of being hypocritical. BUT! I see Fang as someone whose personality is very influenced by his parental figures/role models, particularly Max. **

**Although I completely hated the last three books, I also think Fang grew up a lot and realized who he was by being away from her. A lot of his story is him figuring out who he really is, and I'm using the player tool more as an internal conflict, because he wants to please his father, but at the same time, is realizing that's not the person he wants to be. **

**"Fang the Player" won't be used too much, though, but please let me know what you think! (cough-review!-cough) Hint, hint ;)**


End file.
